Pink Triangles
by Gabergirl10
Summary: In 1942, the Nazis have invaded the town of Lviv, Poland. Laurens is a Polish soldier sent to evacuate the city, and Hamilton is an unsuspecting banker dwelling in one of the apartments. When clearing his building, the two have an untimely meeting, and are forced to flee when the troops and citizens are massacred. Through love, pain, and death, they develop an unbreakable bond.
Lviv, Poland

1942

Any minute now, the Nazi forces would be invading the Jewish town of Lviv, Poland, and no one knew better than the Polish soldier, John Laurens.

His commander, General Greene, turned to him and the young recruit beside him, a stocky young blonde with a painted, freckled nose and broad shoulders, and shouted, "Laurens, Bokzec, help evacuate the buildings while we secure the perimeters!"

Without missing a beat, the two responded with a, "Yes, Sir!" In perfect harmony. They sprinted off in opposite directions, barging into family's homes and screaming at them to leave.

John Laurens, gun in hand, bolted to the next home in line and opened up the grey and faded front door of the nearest apartment. Inside, two ladies were sitting at a table not far off from the door. They both looked up in shock, wearing the same ebony eyes. The brunette was far into pregnancy.

He approached them cautiously, "Madames, not to alarm you, but we need to make an urgent evacuation. There's no time to waste." The blonde, who must've heard the warning of the impending Polish invasion, shot up and grabbed what he assumed to be her sister's arm.

"Eliza, for your child, we need to go."

The women stood up and scurried out of the door, but at the last second, Eliza's delicate hand caught in the doorframe. "Upstairs, my hus-," she was cut off as the other shut the door behind her.

Heeding her warning, Laurens rounded the table and took the stairs two at a time. At the top of the worn stairway, there was another oak door. He pushed it open with the butt of his gun, only to find a small man hunched over a cluttered desk at the far end of the room. Even through all of the commotion, the man never even spared a glance. "Sir."

Laurens proceeded to walk the length of the room, noticing not a single personal possession besides that of the man's messy bed and the desk at which he was working. The strange hosh-posh of mismatched wallpaper and wooden floors were about as decorative as it got. Other than his pen, the peculiar person didn't move an inch. Again the soldier repeated, "Sir, we need to evacuate."

At last, he looked up. Two sets of cerulean eyes met, though Laurens were more naive and light, while the ones that stared into his were clouded and full of wisdom beyond their time. Despite showing a century's worth of experience in his gaze, the man couldn't be older than his late 20s. At last, he broke the silence, "Well, aren't you muscular? Perfect to carry my things."

Laurens didn't know exactly what to say. "Sir, I don't think you understand. You need to get out."

"Yes, but I do not plan on doing so until I have everything I need to continue my work. Especially when thousands of people have intrusted me with their financials, now if you do not mind, I must continue to pack my belongings."

The immigrant draftee shook his head, long, golden, thin hair falling around his shoulders. "Come if you please, but I have more to save." Laurens turned on his heel and began to exit the attic room. Behind him, he heard them stop shuffling their papers and heavy footfalls approached them from the back. A hand grabbed his shoulder and he was spun around to meet all 5'7" of the businessman.

"For your information, I am Alexander Hamilton, the best banker in all of Europe. Who are you to tell me to leave when the trust of thousands of Polish citizens rests on my shoulders and mine alone?"

Who was this walking ego with a pen? He wondered.

Just then, the deafening crack of gunfire rang out from outside. Outcries in a jumbled mix of German and Polish sounded loudly. They both ducked out of instinct. Crouched, their faces were inches apart. John whispered, "They're here," and their breath intermingled. For once, fear etched itself into Alexander's features.

In his peripheral line of vision, Laurens noticed a small shoe closet, and he dragged them both over to it. The entire building shook as combat took place a wall away. "Stay here." He demanded to the shorter male and pushed him inside the cramped vicinity. It was dark and musty, but it would have to do. There'd be no time to safely escape at this point. He poised himself to turn around and shut the door, but Hamilton grabbed the tan hide of his shirt collar. He may have been small, but he had an arm, and with a yank he dragged them both inside. As John's hand was already on the grated door, it naturally closed behind him.

At this point, the taller boy nearly enveloped Alex's small stature. Hamilton was almost wall sitting, and Lauren's shoulder was hitting the top of the closet. It was uncomfortable to move, and their foreheads were gently grazing each other. John swallowed roughly as he felt the blood rushing visibly to his face. The light was poor and patchy inside, but nonetheless, he could still catch the banker's smug, crooked grin. "You're even more muscular than I had first assumed, hmm? Are you on _active duty_ , soldier?" He was extremely flustered and attempted to push himself out of this rather awkward situation. Yes, the boy was cute, but that didn't make this any more okay; he had people to save.

From downstairs through the thin floors, harsh voices drifted upstairs to them. German voices… Suddenly, Laurens' body became as stiff as a board, and Hamilton's grin faded away into the darkness. His breathing quickened. The American could feel the hot, labored gasps for air against his own skin. Though he may have been trained for this, Alexander clearly wasn't. The foreign language crescendoed, and the Nazis casually strolled up the stairs. Thud, thud, thud. The beat of Hamilton's heart matched that of the pounding of their beats, only twice as fast. Anytime soon, their location would be completely be given away if he continued to react so rashly.

At last, the pair in the building reached the top of the landing. One of them approached the desk while his partner held post near the stairwell. Alexander looked as if he was about to emit a small whimper. Seeing no other option, John hastily leaned in and pressed their lips together and released a strangely calming liquid fire through them both. Alex's once darting eyes fluttered shut, and he relaxed and leaned into the kiss as they shared an electric warmth.

"Looks to me like they left in a hurry. The papers are scattered." They heard one attempt in failed Polish. In a perfect accent, the one nearest to them responded, "Then let's go. We can't kill what's not here." As the Nazis returned to the streets, the two broke apart. Laurens was more shocked than Alexander, even though he made the move.

Love and lust were now engrained into Alexander's movements, and just as he opened his mouth to say something, John cut him off. Pushing out of the enclosed space, he started, "We need to get out of here now before they get back." The ginger tried again to make a remark, but John continued, "If I still can, I need to regroup with the general. I have to go out and fight."

Alex was nipping at his heels as he stormed downstairs, and through the living room where the ghosts of Eliza and Angelica lingered. He paused at the door and lifted his hand. He hesitated, though, but not in fear of the Nazis, rather for what they may have done. Inhaling sharply, Laurens exited. Only this time, the door was difficult to move. The head of a dead child was stuck in the doorway.

He looked away and bit his lip as he continued on. Careful not to cause a racket, he walked close to the brick wall and kept a lookout for his fellow troops. "Greene? Bokzec? Hello?" He called out as loud as he dared to. Noticing Hamilton's neighbor's door was ajar, he slipped inside. Behind a nearby gaudy green couch, he caught a glimpse of a bloody, still, slim hand peeking out from behind the feet of the furniture. Alexander tenderly slipped his arm under John's to comfort him. It was as if they both almost knew.

Laurens knew what he expected to see, but he still froze when he came upon Bokzec's mutilated corpse. His sandy and wild hair was caked with his own clotted blood, and his freckles were nearly indistinguishable from the blood splatter. "Goddammit," He cursed.

In the corner of the room, the slumped huddled mass of several bodies lay in their final resting place. It was then that he realized that this wouldn't be the only home that was exterminated. It was too late for them… but it wasn't for Alexander Hamilton. John peered down at him and swore to himself that if he couldn't save them all, then he would, at least, save one. He would be that one.

"Alexander, we need to go."

Active Duty: Slang in the 1940s for a, "sexually promiscuous boy."


End file.
